A Story Dead to Me
by Madam Laugh
Summary: My first fanfic! First of a two-part story of the life, the death, and the afterlife of my Beetlejuice fan-character, Lina G. Batrice. This is her living memoir. Chapter 1 is up!
1. Prologue

_Phew! My first Beetlejuice fanfic has already begun! This is the story of my fan character, Lina Batrice, and bascially her life (and afterlife) story. She's best friend and Lady-In-Waiting to Prince Vince, my favourite character (aside from Beetlejuice and Lydia, obv.) She's a bat. If you're interested to learn more about her, see my fan art on deviantart - my username is GlassEyedGirl (there's also a link on my profile page here.)_

_So, as this is my first fanfic, please don't be too harsh with reviews. J'adore critcism and comments! This is so I can share my love for Beetlejuice with other fans, and make a contribution to the dead guy. He's awesome! _

_Anyway, enjoy! :]_

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**Prologue - Foreword**

'The last enemy that shall be destroyed is Death.' - 1 Corinthians 15:26

Life exists after death. The church preaches it, the poets write about it, the lovers sing of it. It was - and still is, I suppose - a statement that inspires hope and fear into the heart of a human being. Hope, because they can't imagine simply not existing. Fear, because despite their hope, they continuously doubt their faith.

Such vain, foolish idiots. Though, huh, I'm one to talk. It's been - centuries? - since I breathed the living air in deeply, felt my dormant heart pumping in my chest, living blood coursing through my veins, my being. I've never had to worry about catching cold, nor have I felt real human pain since those days. No cuts, no bruises, except maybe a few permanent scars - to remember. It's what we all have in common here, in this place.

But that was a long, long time ago, so I easily forget. I don't even _look_ human. I'd give anything to remember what the real me looked like, who I once was…

My name is Lina Batrice, and this is my story.


	2. Childhood

_First offical chapter! The childhood of Lina. Please bear in mind when they are speaking, they are speaking Spanish. Eventually she does learn how to speak fluent English. I've also based some characters on the names from one of my most favourite songs, 'Alejandro' by Lady Gaga. See if you can spot them in future chapters. ;]_

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I was born on 11th August 1487.

Of course before I came here I had a different name, like everyone else who's stuck here. A living name. My name was Evangelina Gwendolyn de la Garza (Gwendolyn was a favourite in our family, and nearly every female member was called it. I could never stand it!)

I lived in the south-western part of Spain, in a village whose name has, like itself, disappeared into the dust long ago. It was a small, quiet and friendly place where everyone knew each other. It was cut off from other busy towns, but on Thursday mornings traders would come from miles around to sell their foreign goods, and the little village square would be full of strange sights and smells, the cries of merchants, exchanging hands and flashes of gold coins.

_La Cumbre _was the name the de la Garza family christened their home, built on the top of a steep hill a little way off from the village. A large two-story house of stone, with heavy wooden shutters attached to the windows, it was very warm and cosy in the bad weather and winter, and overlooked the beautiful coastline that stretched as endlessly blue as the sky itself.

And then there were the de la Garza's themselves. My father Anton, I liked to boast, was captain of the king's garrison, a courageous and generous man who gave me great pride, but whom I saw relatively little of. My mother Beatriz had been the daughter of a wealthy fish merchant well-renowned further up north for his fair trade (my mother also lived with him in the north before she met my father.) I had one other sibling, a sister named Ana, who was eight years my junior.

We were a fairly well-off family, and because of this my mother could hire extra hands to help her around the house. They were two women, the cook Sandra, who was rather impatient and often sighed and rolled her eyes, and Puri, who was much more at ease, awarm-hearted being of kindness. She had a son who was a little older than myself called Alejandro who she brought with her as there was no one else to look after him. At first, I was first uncertain of him as he had a quiet disposition, but after a few days he overcame this, and we became good playmates.

Since I lived right by the sea, the sand and the ocean were our playground. Early in the mornings we would race down the steep road from my house, clambering through the long grass and sand dunes to get to the beach. We played many games, such as jumping over the little waves and collecting treasures from the washed up seaweed. Our favourite was to collect what we found and then dig deep holes in the sand with our hands, and then bury them.

'Do you think that people will find our treasure, and take it for themselves?' I asked Alejandro one time, as we were heading back to La Cumbre for food.

He shook his head. 'No one will ever know where it is but ourselves.' he declared. We both made a promise on that.

We'd also wade through the shallows and the rock pools, looking for colourful fish and trying to catch them with our hands. As there was a large number of fish in our waters, it wasn't surprising that there were many dishes and recipes involving them in the village; quite unfortunate for me, since I couldn't stand the slimy things. Bleaurgh!

If we weren't at the beach, we were scampering around the village. My mother didn't mind too much of me going down as she knew the villagers, just as long as I stayed with Alejandro and never wandered off. Sometimes we'd go to his house, a small, plain building with only two rooms that contained simple furniture, but I was a welcome guest. He didn't have a father, and his older brother had left to explore and seek fortune elsewhere in the world, and sent a letter every few months.

Sometimes we would go into the village centre on Thursday amongst the merchants and investigate what they were selling. I was particularly fond of the materials, cloths and silks they sold, looking at the rich purples, blues, greens and reds and sneaking a hand out to touch them, before being shooed away by suspicious merchants. My mind would be full of colours and dresses and the foreign ladies who wore them.

'Dresses and dresses,' my mother once shook her head, smiling at me and running her finger under my chin. 'Is that all you think about, niña?'

'But they are so beautiful,' a 5-year-old me sighed, taking my skirts in my hands and swaying gently to and fro, fancying I was dancing to music only I could hear. 'I would like to have a pretty dress to dance in. Just like your dress, mama!'

My mother owned a beautiful flamenco dress, black as midnight with long sleeves. It was made of silk and netting that went tight in the middle and flowed out like water at the bottom. There were special little glass beads smaller than peas sewed into it, so that they'd twinkle like stars in the light when she danced. She had only worn the dress twice in her lifetime, once when she first had it made and again when she danced at her wedding, and it was still in perfect condition.

'Well, my sweet, I will make one specially for you, but to wear it, you must first learn to dance the flamenco!'

I was a born dancer. I have always loved music and dance, and it continues to still live in me, even now that I'm dead. Its makes me feel alive; the pulse of the drums and the clapping of hands, the vibrating nerves of the guitar strings, the breath of song. And so from a very young age I learnt to dance, and I learnt to dance the flamenco, because it was what I was made to do, and it gave me a high that I could not feel elsewhere.

Later, it would help me escape from the hell that would become my world.

Yes, I was extremely blessed in my life. I had a loving family, friends, a good house, an open sky and the sand below me. If only childhood could last forever, for as I began to change as I grew up, so did my world, my sanctuary.


End file.
